A Lilac Sky
by Exceeds Expectations
Summary: "I miss you," he writes, and sends it before he can talk himself out of it. "I miss you, I miss you, I miss you." /DomFredII cousincest.


**A/N:** For Amber's Pairing One Hour Challenge on HPFC, using FrediiDominique and the title as prompts. Enjoy!

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 **Oh, I want to see the colours of another sky.**

\- _Mexico,_ The Staves

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He thinks of her mostly in the mornings.

Always been an early riser. Always loved the birdsong. Loved low light creeping through curtains, the brisk morning air. All of the clean, crisp quiet. The world spinning on and on without all the madness, or heartbreak, or confusion. Just the world, _being_. Just life, doing what it does best; it goes on.

When he was very young, his mum would wake with him. They'd sip tea at the back door and watch the birds flit from tree to tree, the sky melt from pink to blue. "The sun rises just for you," Mum would say on those mornings. She would murmur it to his shoulder and then press her lips against his soft cheek as he sat curled in her lap, mug in hand.

He knows that somewhere out there his 6am start is the very end of Dom's day, where she will crawl into a bed that isn't hers and sleep the day away. He thinks of the birdsong, and how it must lull her into dream. He thinks of colourful hair splayed bright across a stranger's chest and he breathes in lungfuls of morning air like it might help, but it doesn't.

He is a man now. Twenty years old and sipping tea alone as he watches the sunrise through the dirty window of his London flat. He makes a mental note to owl his parents. He makes a mental note to owl Dom, then takes that mental note, crumples it up as small as it will go and _incendio_ s it. They have been through this before. He can't just – it would be best not to.

 _How is everyone?_ he writes to his parents. He means how is Dom, and he knows they will know that. He'd ask her outright, but Merlin knows she'd say _fine_ and change the subject as quickly as she could. Merlin knows she'd say _fine_ and not mean it. He'd ask her outright but Merlin knows he'd sooner kiss her instead, hold her flush against his chest, whisper apologies until she has forgiven him and then whisper them still.

 _I miss you,_ he writes. He sends it before he can talk himself out of it, tying the note to his tawny owl's leg with shaky fingers. _I miss you, I miss you, I miss you._

It is 5:28am. The morning sky is a calming shade of dusky pink streaked with the day's blue. His tea is milky and warm, his window open. There is an owl on the horizon. He watches as it flies closer, imagining the letters it will bring. Wonders if one of them will be Dom's. Wonders if Dom is buried in a boy's blankets, breathing stale air and sleeping off the booze or pills or Merlin knows what else. Wonders briefly what colour her hair is this week, and smiles to himself as he imagines it streaked like the morning sky, pinks and lilacs and blues swirling in curls that only almost brush her shoulders. For a second – just a second – he imagines tangling his fingers in those morning sky curls.

"You know, I wouldn't want anything to do with me either." The voice that comes from behind him is sweet as honey. She doesn't speak sadly, just honestly. She sounds… empty, he thinks. Lost. He smiles despite himself.

"I never said that," he replies, and turns to find her standing in his kitchen wrapped in a jumper that is far too big to be hers. Her bare legs peek out from underneath it. He does his best not to stare.

"You didn't have to. I know what you meant. I don't blame you," she says. "I was – _am –_ a disaster."

He pauses. Takes in the heavy eyeliner smudged into dark bags beneath her eyes, the faint pink stains of what was once lipstick across most of her mouth and chin. Who has she been kissing?

"You're not a disaster."

"You always do that." Her tired face cracks into a smile. "You always lie to make me feel better. It doesn't work, you know."

"I don't lie."

"You," she says, pointing her wand towards the kettle, which starts boiling instantly, "are a liar. And not a good one. A sweet one, but not a good one." She pulls a mug down from the cupboard and summons the milk from the fridge with a lazy flick of her wrist.

"You could come home," she says conversationally, as she searches for a spoon.

"You know I can't," he mutters. He is altogether lost in the way she worriedly nibbles her lip.

"Why?"

Silence rings between them, save for the birds. Freddie turns his head again to the window. The pink has all but faded now, the sky a summer blue tinged with lilac edges. He turns to her once more and pats the space next to him. "C'mere."

She brings her freshly made tea and curls up next to him. "Wow," she whispers, drinking in the morning.

"Yeah," he says, not taking his eyes off her. "Wow."

She turns to him then, as the steam from the tea rises in swirls and curls in the air, as the birds continue to sing, as the world spins on and on. "I love you," she says. She doesn't sound sad, just honest. Just lost. Empty.

"You know I can't come back, Dom," he says softly. "It isn't right."

He slips his dark fingers into hers and stares at her pale skin, at the night and day of them. "You should go," he says, and holds her hand harder still. She looks back out the window. They stay that way for a long time, Dom watching the world and Freddie watching his.

"The sun rises just for you," he says eventually. Dom smiles a soft smile and squeezes his hand.

She looks at him with blue eyes ablaze. "You know I hate mornings," she says. "But I stay awake as long as I can most nights just so I can see night turn into day. You don't know how amazing it is to watch darkness turn into light."

"You should go," he says again, because if he doesn't he will kiss her.

She stands to leave and shoots him one more smile. "I miss you, Fred."

"Goodbye, Dom," he says to the empty space in which she stood just moments before. Standing, he grabs her mug in one hand and his own in the other and walks to the sink. He pours the remains of their cold tea down the drain. He glances out the window at the world that never stops spinning.

He does what he does best; he goes on.


End file.
